


Sociable

by Syndicate_V



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: F/F, Gen, crosspost, cursing because jack, second-person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-05
Updated: 2014-06-05
Packaged: 2018-02-03 12:36:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1744844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Syndicate_V/pseuds/Syndicate_V
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She is a deity of fury, personified as human, deigning to speak to you and--instead of paying attention--you can only poke and prod her into action.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sociable

**Author's Note:**

> Loaded up my old saves, scanned through some old fics, and found some favorites. Still shrugging about this one, but it's a cutsey and cutseys are nice.  
> (Posted to my GotVG account as well, though the newer things are more than likely going to go here, as soon as I can properly finagle the site.)
> 
> Any errors I will claim all on my own because I'm a loserbutt and I smell.  
> Normal disclaimers apply; I don't own Mass Effect and all that jazz.

_"Jesus, Shep, when's the last time you got laid?"_   The question is asked mockingly, a teasing lilt hitching on the edge of her words. She grips her hairless scalp with one hand, nails digging into nondescript tattoos (at least, you've never been close enough to see the details that are undoubtedly there). The other loops into her baggy bottoms, revealing more tattoos and a hint of hip bone to your ~~shamefully shamed~~ _hungry_ gaze.  
  
Red eyes, enhanced with Cerberus cybernetics, immediately dart away, stare down the scope of an M-97 Viper, and drop an enemy with practiced precision. At the recoil--low as it is, it still manages to sting--your lip scrapes against your teeth, the soft skin ripping imperceptibly, still enough for a small bubble of blood to come to the surface of your skin.  
  
"Shit." After a few clicks, the sniper rifle is a more manageable size and in its place on your back. Your tongue flicks out, collects the spot of blood, and darts back in. Jack watches you the whole time, head cocked to the side in a manner akin to a bird.  
  
A homicidal, half-crazed, fully tattooed, completely hairless ~~completely? You'll bet there's one place she has hair~~ bird, but one nevertheless.  
  
"Is there a problem, Jack?" Your voice comes out gruffly, a voice used to giving commands, a terse voice.  
  
"Shit, Shepard, I asked you a question." She throws her hands up and you cannot help but find the jerky movement of her lanky limbs mesmerizing. The colors along her arms dance in a curious manner, but they rest back under her chest and you have to avert your eyes in order to not seem...sketchy. "I'm trying to be sociable here," she continues, "Least you could do is appreciate it, fuck."  
  
Your reply is a shrug, a roll of shoulders both meant to answer her as well as work the kinks out of them. She lets out an irritated puff of air, rolls her neck from side to side, and throws her hands up, exasperated.  
  
"Fuck, fine! Shit, Shepard, you're a dick when you want to be, y'know?"  
  
A smile, completely unbidden, places itself on your face, making you appear completely undignified and altogether goofy. You hide it, muffling your sudden laughter with a hand over your mouth. "Sounds...Sounds like you're _pouting_ , Jack."  
  
She narrows her eyes, clenches her fists, and spits her anger on the dirt next to her. A bubble of biotic energy emerges from her and bursts in an furious haze of blue near a huddled patch of enemy soldiers. Curious that she'd choose **now** of all times to socialize, when you're picking off opponents for some mission or another; you've lost track of the factions you're doling out slots of time for.  
  
It is only after a few moments, once the corpses of the hidden soldiers begins to sizzle from the force of Jack's attack ( _ha!_ ), that she turns to you, eyes still narrowed into mere slits. She begins to approach, each step further proving your earlier point... _she's pouting_. Her finger almost smacks the breastplate of your intricate armor (Terminus; very expensive and very well-cared-for). "Watch yourself, Shepard."  
  
You cock an eyebrow at her. "Truly? Threatening me now? I thought we were growing close." She moves closer, too close, teeth bared and mere inches from your face. She smells like gunpowder, an archaic smell that mixes dangerously with her own personal musk and dances with hints of gasoline. The blending of scents is oddly delightfully, fully her in their own right. She smells as she should, like the fury she cultivates so incredibly, like... _aw, hell._  
  
Her anger is an aphrodisiac, her righteous fury a delicious elixir, a cure for what ails you. And an intense hunger, an insatiable _lust_ for her burdens you. It is painful, nearly crippling, and you cannot believe your own weakness.  
  
So it only stands to reason that you shut up her sputtered remarks and inflamed ramblings with your lips, pressing against her own so strongly that you will her to gasp, to open her mouth to you so that you may plunder with fierce abandon. Enemies have ceased their arrival, and you offer up heartfelt thanks to whatever deities might be paying attention to you at the time. An armored hand creeps along her back to rest at the bare dip, right above her waist. It is when this touch happens that she jerks out of her surprise and bucks against you like the wildcat you are certain she is. She shoves you, her bewildered stare quickly masking itself behind a thin veneer of amusement. You're already mentally berating yourself; you know her history and yet you've still acted as brash as you have.  
  
A quiet moment passes, stifling with the thickness of the silence. She nods at you and you do the same in return, a mutual agreement to let what has happened pass without issue. You move ahead of her, suddenly quite eager to get this mission over with. Your M-300 Claymore is unlatched from your side and clutched in both hands as if it were a lifeline.  
  
It seems as though Jack cannot resist teasing you, though. It's not like you expected her to simply let your actions slide; no, she's too much of a vengeful _bitch_ for that. "Hey, that explains why you haven't gotten any lately."


End file.
